What If
by CSIGurlie07
Summary: A possible alternate storyline for Heartland. Was a one-shot, but now is multi-chapter. Now a casefic! Random chapter in the middle of it! Back on hiatus... sorry!
1. Chapter 1

Ziva led the way out of the store, followed by Gibbs and Tony. They made their way to the dark sedan that they had driven from D.C. Tony approached the passenger side of the car, while Ziva and Gibbs walked to the driver's side. Tony paused as he reached for the handle, waiting for Gibbs to unlock it from the panel on the driver's door. Just as Gibbs was going to do so, Ziva's hand shot out and grasped his wrist firmly.

"Wait," she said. Piercing blue eyes shot to her, obeying her command, but she didn't notice the glance. Her instincts were screaming at her, telling her something was off. Stronger than the prickle at the back of her neck that told her someone was watching her, this sensation was accompanied by a vicious twisting in her gut. She quickly reached out with her senses, searching for anything that seemed out of place. At first, nothing presented itself, but then—there. Ever so soft, barely discernable, but unmistakable nevertheless, and now thundering in her ears as she realized the implications—a faint ticking sound, coming from underneath the car. In an instant, she had thrown herself against Gibbs, shoving him away from the sedan. "Bomb!" she cried out. Tony responded immediately, dodging away from the car. A moment later, the car exploded in to a mass of flame and heat.

The force of the blast threw Gibbs and Ziva off their feet. Gibbs both thanked God that he had partially cushioned Ziva's impact with the pavement, and cursed himself for being unable to shield her from the blast itself. The Marine quickly recovered, propping himself onto his elbows, his eyes immediately going to the still form of his team member.

"Ziva," he said, getting to his feet quickly, only to kneel again at her side. Her eyes were closed, and the image of her lying bloody on a stretcher after the bombing in Morocco flashed across his mind. He noticed her hand was trapped beneath her head, and his first assumption was that she had managed to protect her head from hitting the pavement. But then sharp eyes detected movement: a lone tear escaping her shut lids. And then he realized she was not unconscious, and that the trapped hand was not protecting her head, but was being pressed over her ear, the same ear that had bothered her on the U.S.S. Reagan. "Oh, Ziva," he sighed, knowing the pain she would have to be in to be rendered so immobile. He shifted slightly to gather her in his arms, moving slowly to avoid triggering her innate, and lethal, reflexes. It was then that he noticed his father had come around the flaming car to check on them.

"Ziva!" Before Gibbs even had the chance to touch her, Tony came pelting around the side of the car, and without pausing, slid to the ground next to his partner and scooped her into his arms. Before Gibbs was able to warn him, the Mossad officer lashed out, snaking her free hand around to grasp the back of his skull, and yanking his head into her waiting knee. Then an elbow caught him in the solar plexus, and when his arms went limp, she rolled out of his grasp, and fluidly moved to her feet with a feline grace that belied her compromised position. The entire altercation took less than five seconds, but left the Senior Field Agent bloody and wheezing nonetheless. Once on her feet, however, she faltered, and the drain of color from Ziva's face told Gibbs the swift movement and change in elevation had left her disoriented, unbalanced, and in pain. He swiftly stood and went to her side, reaching out to gently touch her arm. Still on edge, she jerked away from his grasp. The movement was more than she could handle, though, and her legs gave out. Gibbs caught her slim form, and brought them both back down to kneel on the pavement, where she paused, and took deep breaths to keep the pain at bay. Her hand was still pressed tightly against the side of her head, and her eyes were shut tight.

"Ziva," Gibbs said after a moment. When she didn't respond, he reached out and tipped her chin up so that he could see her face. Her eyes opened, and the pain so clearly evident in those brown orbs nearly broke his heart. "Ziva, can you hear me?" Her eyes squeezed shut again as another wave of pain hit her. "Ziva!" They opened again. "Can you hear me?" She nodded, as she once more closed her eyes, and she bowed her head. Gibbs could see her struggling to keep her breathing even. Gently he wrapped his arms around her in a bracing hug, and she rested her head against his chest. Over her head, Gibbs saw his father staring, but whether it was at him, her, or both, he couldn't tell. The slightly shocked expression on his father's face, however, suggested the old man had been unprepared for Ziva's display of self-defense.

After a few minutes, he felt Ziva relax slightly. He brought his lips to her good ear and whispered "You ok to go back inside?" Her resultant nod made him smile slightly—she was always one to recover quickly, even if this would have put anyone else in the hospital. He helped her to stand, but really only to steady her: she had been able to stand on her own power. Still pressing her hand to her ear, she made her way back to the store, hesitating only when she reached the curb. But then the elder Gibbs offered her his hand, which Ziva accepted with a small smile. The grey-haired man visibly relaxed, and he escorted her into the store. Gibbs smiled slightly at the exchange before following. When he got to the sidewalk, he was intercepted by Tony.

"All out evidence was in the car, Boss," he said, his voice muffled by the hand that was pinching his nose in an attempt to halt the flow of blood. Gibbs sighed. Blue eyes flicked from the car to the door Ziva had just entered, before settling on the agent once more.

"I don't give a damn about the evidence, Dinozzo," he said finally. Then he turned, and entered his father's store.


	2. Chapter 2

The door dinged behind Gibbs, and he pause to allow his eyes to adjust to the dim ambiance of the store. Once adjusted, the Marine immediately saw Ziva sitting on a stool next to the hardware counter. His father was handing her a glass of water, which she grasped with one hand. Gibbs grew concerned when he realized her other hand was still pressed against her ear. He strode forward, and the motion quickly alerted the assassin to his presence, which only exacerbated his concern.

"Gibbs!" she said, setting the drink down and standing quickly. Her hand left her ear and dropped to her side. "I am fine—"

"Save it, David." His voice was harsh and reprimanding. She looked taken aback for a moment, but then her expression hardened, her eyes narrowing and her lips pressed into a thin line. He recognized the mask: she was going into soldier-mode, a habit he had broken her of over a year and a half ago. His gut twisted, and he mentally cursed himself. "Dad," he said, his eyes not leaving his agent. "Check on Dinozzo, will yah?"

"Um, yes. Of course. Call the fire department too; get them to put out the fire..." The elder Gibbs was already out the door. As soon as the door chimed a second time, Gibbs stepped forward, consciously invading her space.

Ziva's eyes flicked up to meet his and he noticed that her eyes were void of emotion, a characteristic that had not emerged in over two years. The ease with which she was hiding her emotions astounded him for a moment, until he realized that it she must have reacquired her talents after being sent being sent back to Israel.

"Do not—" he started, his voice low, a near-whisper, "insult my intelligence," surprise raced through her brown orbs, "by telling me you are fine after what just happened." She dropped her gaze. "You didn't even hear me come into the store, Ziver." He shifted his head to recapture her glance. "Do you care to amend your earlier statement?"

"I can still my job," she said, her voice soft, softer than he had ever heard it before. The vulnerability he heard pierced his heart.

"I don't doubt that," he assured her. "But part of that job is to take care of yourself. And that includes admitting when you are injured." As if it had a mind of its own, his hand reached out to touch her cheek, and he had a brief flashback to a warehouse where Ziva is bloody and shell-shocked.

The warmth beneath his hand called him back to the present. "We just got you back," he continued, his voice still low. "I don't want to have to say good-bye again just yet."

Her eyes widened ever so slightly, and she nodded quietly in acquiescence. He pulled her into a strong, but gentle hug, his hand reaching up to touch the hair at the nape of her neck. The action struck him as intimate, but he was surprised when he discovered he didn't mind. After a moment or two, they pulled apart.

"I'm sending Dinozzo back to the motel for the night. You are staying here—it'll be quieter here without the interstate right next door." The motel was literally right off the super-road. Ziva's brows furrowed and she opened her mouth to protest, but a pointed look from him made her pause.

Then her shoulders slumped and she nodded. "I will be staying here too; to make sure you actually get some rest." She glared at him, and he grinned in return. "You can come in now Dad," he shot over his shoulder, having heard his father approach some thirty seconds ago. Ziva stiffened, and he realized that she hadn't been aware of his father's presence, due to her damaged hearing.

Gibbs turned to place himself on her good side. "It'll come back," he said in a low voice, but leaning toward her so she could easily hear him. He gave her hand a quick squeeze, and she nodded in acknowledgement.

"Hey Dad," he said. "You still got that extra bedroom above the store?"


	3. Chapter 3

Later that night found the two agents in the living space above the store. The main room housed both a small cooking area and a couch, which was able to be unfolded into a bed. There was also a full bath, and a small bedroom, which had a four-poster queen-sized bed.

Gibbs' father and Dinozzo had both left for the night, the agent to the hotel while the elder man returned to his house on the other side of town. Gibbs was thankful for the quiet their departure had afforded.

The Marine had quickly become irritated with the flock of visitors the explosion had attracted. He had managed to keep Ziva out of earshot in the store with Tony, but that left the team leader to field the questions of the concerned and frightened townspeople alone.

He knew that Ziva was glad for the others to be gone as well. When Gibbs had returned to her after dispersing the crowd, Tony had been hovering over her. She had regained some of her color, and her hands were clenched, but the expression on her face told him it wasn't out of pain.

Knowing Ziva, she was desperately attempting to not lose her temper at her concerned partner. One hand was slowly drifting toward her waist band, and he knew she was losing patience: that was where she kept her knife.

At the moment, Ziva was in the shower. He was in the living area, preparing the pull-out couch for him to sleep on for the night. He could hear her humming in a low voice, so low that he knew that it was more for the comfort of feeling the vibrations in her chest than for entertainment. After his hearing had been damaged in the Kuwait explosion, listening to music utilizing the lower decibels had managed to ease his agitation in the hospital.

He heard the humming stop and the water shut off. He was just laying a blanket on the hide-a-bed when the bathroom door opened, and soft steps padding toward him made him turn around. As soon as he did, he momentarily forgot to breathe.

Ziva's black hair was damp and lay curling on her bare shoulders. She had wrapped herself in a towel, the edges tucked expertly underneath each other to allow her hands freedom of movement while keeping her decent. It covered her to about just above the middle of her thigh, exposing a large expanse of bronze skin while leaving plenty to the imagination.

"I forgot my bag out here." Her words cut through his shock and his eyes met hers as she came even closer. Her posture was confident and natural, and he realized that she was completely at ease, even as scantily clad as she was.

She bent over, grasping her pack with one hand. When she straightened, the movement disrupted her already-taxed equilibrium, and she wavered violently. Gibbs acted instinctively and grasped her arms to steady her.

Warm, damp skin met his calloused fingers, and the muscles beneath her skin tensed at the contact. He focused on her eyes instead of the feel of her skin.

Her eyes closed and her free hand briefly pressed the side of her head. Then the dizzy spell was over, and her eyes opened. Her shoulders slumped slightly, her brows furrowed in obvious frustration.

"Hey," he said, speaking for the first time since she left the shower. Ziva met his gaze, and despite her somewhat defeated posture, her eyes were bright and clear. A moment passed and he half-expected her to shake off his grip in a motion of self-sufficiency. But instead, she offered him a tired half-smile.

"Toda," she said coyly.

"Be'vakasha," he responded. Her smile grew at the sound of her native language. Something in her eyes changed, and suddenly it seemed as if she was searching for something as she gazed at him. Her brown eyes were sharp and alert, and his infamous gut started to flutter: a sensation he hadn't experienced since Paris.

"I'm going to get dressed," she said finally. He nodded and released his hold. She disappeared into the bedroom, and when she came out a few minutes later, she was clad in three-quarter length exercise pants and a sport tank.

Gibbs looked up at her from his position on his makeshift bed.

"Are you sure you do not wish to use the bed?" Ziva asked him. "I am already imposing enough as it is, and I would be more than comfortable on the chair-bed." He shot her a sharp look.

"Don't make me order you into compliance, David," he said. His voice was stern, but he knew the grin on his face ruined the effect.

"Yes. All right. Well." She rubbed her arms. "Good night."

"Laila tov." He wasn't sure why he was suddenly dredging up his rudimentary Hebrew. But then her smile returned, and he knew the reason.

"Laila tov," she replied. With that, she turned and silently moved to the bedroom, gently closing the door behind her.

Gibbs slid down on the cot until his full length was stretched across the mattress. He interlaced his fingers behind his head and gazed up at the ceiling.

The smile on his lips remained, even as he drifted off to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Gibbs awoke to a pitch dark room. He froze, listening intently for anything that may have caused his abrupt wakefulness. At first nothing presented itself, but then, there: the faint sound of rustling sheets coming from Ziva's room.

At first, he assumed that she was just getting up to use the bathroom, or simply repositioning herself, for the rustling soon stopped. But then it began again. This time, they didn't fade. Instead, the noise grew in intensity, until he realized that she was thrashing in the sheets.

A muffled moan sent him shooting out of bed, quickly grasping his sidearm; it could simply be a nightmare, or it could be something much more dangerous. He stealthily approached the door to her room and threw the door open, immediately raising his gun, ready to shoot anyone who may be attacking her.

He keen blue eyes discovered no visible threat, and they quickly focused on the figure entangled in the bed's blankets. She seemed to still be asleep, though fitfully. Even as he watched, she seemed to fight an invisible attacker, and he could hear faint, indiscernible words issuing from her lips.

He tucked his gun into his waistband at the small of his back while weighing his options. She was obviously having a nightmare, and the increasing frenzy of her throes urged him to wake her from it. On the other hand, however, he would be risking serious bodily harm if he got anywhere near her. Tony had once told him of their time undercover, and how she had held a gun to his head when he had attempted to wake her up. If her dream was violent, as he suspected it was, she could easily kill him if she didn't come to her senses quickly enough.

All rational thought fled his mind when a pained, whimpering half-cry reached his ears. Gibbs abandoned his post in the doorway and smoothly crossed to the bed. He remained on his feet, bending over her to reach a hand down to her sweat-slicked shoulder. Just as he made contact, he spoke.

"Ziva—" He didn't have a chance to complete his thought, as she instantly reacted to his touch.

A small, but strong hand grabbed his thumb in a blur of movement and pulled against the joint. He barely managed to shift to accommodate the strain and prevent fracture before her leg snaked out and hooked around his torso. With a violent twist she sent him to the floor with a loud thud, and before he could react she was on top of him, pressing an arm to his throat.

At that point his Marine training kicked in, and he retaliated using his greater body mass to flip her over onto her back and straddling her legs. He just managed to refrain from pinning her legs, knowing it would only panic her more if he did. Instead he just grabbed her wrists, hoping to immobilize them and prevent further injury to himself.

However, she brought her knee up, and blinding pain seared through him. His grip on her slackened, and she used her newfound freedom to thrust the heel of her palm into his nose. He recoiled just enough to prevent a broken nose, but the trauma was enough to send blood gushing over his lips. Then an elbow connected with his cheek and sent him sprawling to the side. He quickly recovered and managed to roll to his knees before the click of a gun cocking made him freeze.

He looked up to find himself looking up the barrel of her Sig. He raised his hands ever so slowly, demonstrating to her that he was weaponless before he opened his bloodied lips to speak.

"Ziva." He made his voice as low and comforting as possible. His speech was slow in an attempt to soothe her into awareness. "Ziva, it's all right. I'm not going to hurt you. Wake up. It's all right." He kept up a steady stream of soft words until he saw her blink, and confusion filled her eyes.

Her gaze darted quickly around the room, and her breath became slightly erratic when she didn't immediately recognize her surroundings. He saw confusion flit across her features, quickly followed by brief pain, and ultimately, fear.

"Ziva." Her attention returned to him with razor-sharp focus, and he found himself on edge once more, not knowing what she would do. He had seen behavior like hers before once, when some of his unit had been on leave. He had gone with them to India for a week, and one of the villages they had visited had been hunting one day when they happened upon a tiger. They had managed to cage it, and carried it back to the village. Idiots that they were, they had let it loose in a stone enclosure that had previously housed cattle. The youths of the village had approached it with sharpened sticks. It had been wary of them, being out of familiar territory. It hadn't been until they had cornered it that it had retaliated. It managed to kill six boys and maul three others before the village elders had managed to shoot it down.

The wild look in Ziva's eyes reminded him of that tiger, and Gibbs knew he had to remove himself as a threat before being mauled was the best he could hope for. He slowly shifted so that his ankles crossed and he was sitting on them. It would slow his response time should he need to move quickly, but it also showed that he didn't intend to spring to his feet and attack her.

Her eyes tracked the movement, and it was enough for her to awaken the rest of the way. As he watched, her eyes widened, and she immediately took a step back, away from him. She lowered her weapon and then her hands flashed as she dismantled her gun, releasing the slide so the clip clattered to the floor and freeing the round in the chamber with practiced ease. When the gun was little more than an empty shell she dropped it, as if it had turned red-hot in her hand. She looked at him for a moment before her eyes closed with realization.

She sank to the bed, her elbows rested on her knees before her hands came up to cover her face. In that moment, she seemed so defeated that it made Gibbs' heart break. He rose back up to his knees smoothly, and then, still on his knees, he approached her. His movement elicited no reaction from the Mossad officer, and when he was directly in front of her, he reached out and gingerly pulled her hands away.

Gathering both of her small hands in one of his own calloused ones, with the other he reached up and brushed away a lock of hair. Once he had tucked it behind her ear, he caressed her cheek. She didn't react, and refused to make eye contact with him.

"You had a nightmare," he told her. She nodded, still not looking at him. Something about the guarded motion threw up a red flag. "You've had them before." She nodded again, and this time he kicked himself. Who hasn't had a nightmare before? "How long have you been having it?"

This time she didn't respond. Her silence spoke volumes, and it surprised even him. He knew how exhausting recurring nightmares were, but she had not shown any sign of fatigue on the job. He was beginning to become extremely irritated at her Mossad training: her talent in hiding weakness was going to seriously hamper his ability to keep her safe and healthy.

"What was it about?" he asked. The question made her tense. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but then closed it again, instead giving a shake of her head. Her eyes closed, as if trying to block something out. "Ziva," he said. "Look at me." To his surprise, she did, if only for a moment before dropping her gaze to the floor once more. "You don't have to tell me," he continued, "but sometimes telling someone helps. It helped me." This made her make eye contact again, and this time, there was an indescribable emotion welling within them. "What was it about?" he asked again, hoping this time she would be able to confide in him. To his surprise, she did.

"Ari." Her voice was small, and thick with emotion. "Fire… Smoke… and heat." She took a breath. "And I was… I'm trapped—" At this her voice broke, and Gibbs instinctively wrapped her in his arms. The position was physically uncomfortable for him, as his knees weren't as young as they used to be, but the girl trembling against him removed any desire he had to change position.

She didn't seem to be crying, but allowing him to witness such a vulnerable moment told Gibbs that the dream had affected her greatly. He was suddenly grateful that the car had exploded; who knew how long Ziva would have continued to hide her distress? Now he had a chance to help her through her pain, and he wanted nothing more than to do everything in his power to do so.

Her shaking ceased relatively quickly, but he waited for her to be the one to pull away. When she did, she rubbed her face tiredly, and then looked at him. Her eyes widened when she saw the damage she had done to his nose.

"Gibbs!" she exclaimed. "I am so sorry!" She stood, and helped pull him to his feet. "Come," she ordered, guiding him out of the bedroom and into the living area. "Sit." She gently pushed him to the sofa bed, and he watched in mild amusement as she puttered in the kitchen, wetting a paper towel and reaching into the freezer and wrapping some ice in a dishtowel. Damp towel and ice in hand, she returned to him.

"Here," she said, handing him the ice. "Hold that." She perched on the bed next to him, and began dabbing at his face with the wet paper towel, cleaning the blood away. Her touch was surprisingly gentle, and she moved with the efficiency of someone who had tended to injuries often. When the blood had all been wiped away, she retrieved the towel of ice from him and gently placed it against his nose.

"This will help keep the swelling down," she said. He grinned at her motherly tone. "What?" she asked in response.

"I've had dozens of nosebleeds before," he said with a chuckle. "I know how to take care of them by now." Her eyes narrowed at him.

"Well, this is the first nosebleed you've gotten from me," she retorted. "I fix my mistakes."

"Not your mistake," Gibbs said. "I knew what I was getting myself into." She pegged him with a hard look.

"So you knew that I was going to pull a gun on you? Nearly kill you?"

"I knew it was a possibility."

"Then why did you try to wake me up, if you knew what could happen?" Her brows furrowed. "I could have killed you, Gibbs." His hands reached up and pulled her hands down, taking the ice-filled towel with them. He caught her gaze and held it, and his voice became serious.

"You needed me."

Ziva pulled her hands free of his, turning away so that they were sitting side by side on the cot. They sat in silence for a few long moments. Gibbs was just beginning to kick himself for letting his thoughts slip when she spoke again.

"I could have killed you." He looked at her.

"You didn't."

"I could have." She paused. "I almost did."

"The minute your instincts and reflexes fail is the minute you ask death to come and take you. I know that. I knew that going in." He sneaked a hand across her lap and covered one of hers. "I know better than to make a habit of sneaking up on you while you're sleeping. You didn't hear me when I called your name. If your hearing was at a hundred percent, you would have recognized me a lot sooner, and you wouldn't have gotten so close to putting a bullet in my head." Silence met his words. He half expected her to apologize once more, but she didn't. The fist under his hand, however, told him she was still fraught with guilt, even if she had enough self-control to keep her apologies silent.

After a moment, Gibbs stood, and made his way to the kitchenette. Ziva watched him go, and when he started to prepare something, she moved to the center of the cot, and rested her arms on the back of the couch to get a better few of what he was doing.

" Coffee?" she asked as she realized his intentions. "At this hour?"

"I don't think either of us will be getting much sleep tonight. Do you?" She shook her head. "Any hour is a good hour for coffee," he added.

"Spoken like a true addict," she said with a wry grin. "You are using your own personal stash, yes?" She clearly remembered the discussion they had had in the boondocks about the virtues of real coffee over chicory.

"Yup." As the pot began to sputter and gurgle as hot water passed through the fragrant beans and filter paper, he turned and leaned back against the counter, providing Ziva with an uninhibited view of his long, muscular body.

"It is hard to picture you growing up here." Her words surprised him.

"Here?"

"Well, I can picture you growing up in the store, especially since you are so well versed in the use of nonelectrical woodworking tools. That part seems to fit. But this town. You could not have been content here. It is too quiet. A town this quiet in Israel would be considered a hotbed for terrorist upper management." She paused. "A town this quiet can be dangerous. It usually means that a single party has managed to gain control of the entire population. At least in Tel Aviv, even with our IEDs and suicide bombers, there is still freedom of voice."

"You're right," he said after a moment. He had been astounded by how spot on the money she had been. "And the party in power here is the family we are investigating. Which is part of the reason they are being so uncooperative; they aren't used to being challenged by anyone." He turned and retrieved two mugs from the cabinet and filled them both with the steaming brown liquid. "And you're right again," he continued, handing her one of the mugs, which she cradled in her hands with a nod of thanks. "I started a lot of fights as a kid." He sat next to her on the cot, resting against the back of the couch while stretching out his legs in front of him. To his delight, she did not move away, leaving them extraordinarily close. "Did you get into a lot of fights as a kid?" He was almost certain of the answer, but he asked anyway.

"Yes." Her answer was prompt, and without hesitation. "I did." She hesitated before continuing. "We all fought. It wasn't wrong to fight, not wrong in the way American's view violence. Many of my classmates were also from Mossad families. Fighting was a way to resolve disputes, defend honor, and to protect oneself. I met some of my best childhood friends by fighting with them first." She grinned. "Every so often we would get a teacher fresh out of college, eager to help shape the minds of young children into the next generation's peacemakers. We were always so thrilled when we found one." Her mischievous grin was innocuous, and he found himself returning it. "They did not last long."

"I can imagine." In his mind's eye, he saw a young and wild Ziva terrorizing young teachers: asking probing questions that made them blush and the students laugh, playing pranks, running around and leading the other students in mutinous strikes against indoor reading time.

Suddenly, a burning question filled his mind, and it slipped between his lips before he was even aware he was asking it.

"What was Ari like?"


	5. Chapter 5

"What was Ari like?"

Her expression was something akin to a deer caught in the headlights. The shock he felt at his own audacity was clearly visible on her features. He began to backtrack, for the first time in over ten years. "If it's too painful, you don't have to—"

"It is all right," she said. "You just took me by surprise." She looked into her coffee mug. "You are the first person to ask me about him. Everyone either becomes overcome with hate at the mention of his name, or simply ignores that he existed at all." She sipped the cooling brown liquid carefully. "I am glad you asked. When I was in your basement, listening to him explain his personal crusade against you, I did not recognize him. He looked like my brother, but he had been so twisted by hate and bitterness…

The Ari I know, the person in my memories, was the best brother I could have ever asked for. He was much older than me, so we were not plagued by the rivalry that other siblings experienced. We were very much alike, but different enough to be compatible. He was studying to be a doctor, and I only ever wanted to do what my father did." She shook her head with a huff. A sardonic smile twisted her lips.

"When we were kids, Mossad officers were superheroes. They would swoop in, divert a major catastrophe, and then fade back into the background before anyone realized they had done anything. They did it without thanks, and that was what made their work truly commendable. It wasn't until we were much older that we were disillusioned." She shrugged. "By then we were in too deep.

"Ari knew the truth. He tried to tell me, but a six year old is not receptive to such warnings. I would not believe that my father could do wrong. And when he could not convince me, he took it upon himself to protect me as much as he could." She sipped her coffee. "Even when he was away at Edinburgh, he called every week at the very least. He did his best to curb my father's more intense training methods.

"And when I grew older and became rebellious against my father's authority, he helped me do little things to fulfill my need to act out without inciting the worst of my father's wrath." Her eyes had glazed over by now, and he knew that she was becoming more entrenched in her memories. He was surprised that she was opening up so much, with so little prodding. He sipped his own coffee as she continued.

"He was also very protective of me. Once, Mordechai Rubenstein teased me about having an Arab as a brother. I proceeded to knock out two of his teeth, and of course, he told his father, his father filed a complaint against the school, which got back to my father. Ari found out why I beat Mordy up, and then not only told my father, but then went and taught Mordy a lesson on snitching."

"Why didn't you tell your father what happened on your own?" Her head shot up, as if she had forgotten he was there. He half-expected her to stop speaking, but once again she surprised him.

"Snitching. You do not do it, no matter what. You do not ever betray your friends, even to save your own skin." She shrugged. "Now I realize that it was probably an early exercise in torture resistance, but back then, it elevated us above those not part of the Mossad heritage. We had honor when the others were still learning to read. It was important to us. And after Ari reminded him about that honor, Mordy never did anything like that again. Well, he was still a bastard, but he had learned his lesson about snitching.

"Ari was my guardian, in more ways than one. He would often be the one to look after me when my father went away on business. He also was very distrusting of boys who showed an interest in me." She grinned. "My first boyfriend broke up with me because of Ari's traditional 'big brother' speech. I was so upset with Ari at the time, but looking back, it was probably one of the sweetest things he had ever done for me.

"He taught me how to ride his motorcycle when I was fourteen. My father never knew we were doing it, which made it that much more special. When I finally learned how to drive a car, Ari had been away at Edinburgh and my father was too busy to show me, so I figured it out on my own." Gibbs chuckled. It sure explained a lot about her erratic driving. Ziva's expression shifted from nostalgic to serious in the next moment.

"For the longest time, I could not understand how he could have done what he did. He was always helping people; he was a doctor after all. But he killed an innocent person simply because someone reminded him of our father." She shook her head. "He betrayed me. He was going to use my trust, my loyalty, to get away with his crimes." Her hands gripped the mug tightly. "He allied himself with the people who killed Tali. He told me when he first went undercover that he was working to destroy the cell, that it was a way to ensure vengeance. But instead he allies with them, joins their cause, all because of my father. His hate for my father overcame his love for me and Tali." Her voice became bitter. "I finally learned that no one is ever truly who you think they are." Her grip on her mug then relaxed.

"I used to dream about him a lot, after…" she didn't specify any further, and he didn't need the clarification of which event she was referring to. "He used to be all I dreamt of. I would see him as he used to be, as my big brother, not the monster I saw in your basement. The situations varied, but the most common one would be the two of us in Haifa, during one of our summer vacations. He would be there, smiling at me with open arms. I run to him, and he gathers me in his arms, just like he used to when he came home from Edinburgh.

And then I hear a gunshot, and then there is blood on my face." Her voice started to shake, but she cleared her throat and it became strong once more. "I look up at him, and he has a bullet hole in his forehead, dripping blood. I turn to see who shot him… And it is me. But this time, it is me who is the monster. It is me whose face is twisted and ugly, and I have killed my big brother, the only person in my life who had put me ahead of everything else." She cleared her throat again, this time taking a swig of now lukewarm coffee.

"That was then," she continued. "And eventually, I began to have them less often." She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. She shifted so that she was no longer directly facing him, but rather sitting next to him. "But now, since Morrocco…" Gibbs' mind flashed back to that day in the bullpen where he and his newest team members had seen her unconscious and bleeding on ZNN. His gut twisted, and once again, wished he could have been there to protect her somehow. "Now my dreams are filled with fire and smoke, and many times I am pinned somehow; sometimes it is a charred wooden beam, sometimes a corpse… sometimes I am simply paralyzed, unable to move. And then, like always, Ari comes to me, bleeding, asking me why. And I cannot move, I cannot defend myself…"

A single tear escaped her dark lashes and trickled its way down her cheek. Gibbs sat a little straighter, and after a moment of contemplation, gingerly reached over and pulls her to him. At first she was resistant, but then yielded, her warm body melding itself to his. She sighed, and he could almost see the burden lift from her shoulders as she relaxed against him. Eventually, as he rubbed rhythmic circles on her back, her breathing evened out, and he knew that she had fallen asleep.

And there they remained until the first light of dawn crept over the horizon.


	6. Chapter 6

Gibbs' coffee cup was long empty by the time the sun appeared, throwing shafts of light on the sleeping form curled next to him. The golden rays lit her bronze skin, illuminating her relaxed features. Gibbs thought she looked angelic; her world-weary eyes were closed, and she seemed younger somehow. As if the ever-present burden had lifted from her shoulders.

He wondered if she had looked this way all the time when she was younger. Was this what Ari saw when he visited her in Tel Aviv? Maybe it was not the death of his mother that had pushed Ari over the edge. Perhaps it was the loss of Ziva's innocence that had spurred his hate for their father. If so, he could understand Ari's hate. It would not have negated what he had done to Kate, but—Gibbs would understand where the monster had originated.

He figured it was about 4 AM when he realized that Ziva had opened her eyes. There had been no change in her breathing, no shift in muscle to alert him to her wakefulness. But her eyes were open, bright and clear. She looked up at him, and if he didn't know better, he would have sworn that there was a glimmer of wonder in her brown orbs at his presence.

To his chagrin, she pulled away and unfolded her limbs. He shifted as well, and his joints creaked in protest at the unaccustomed movement. He stood and did a few torso twists, arching his back to work out the kinks in his back.

Glancing back at the cot, he had to do a double take when he noticed what Ziva was doing. At first he was greeted by a prominent view of her rear end. Confusion filled him for a moment, before he realized that she was stretching. On her knees on the cot, she had her hands and arms stretched out in front of her, just like a cat after a long nap. An expanse of tan skin was visible between her sport tank and pants.

As he watched, she fluidly arched her back and then straightened it, sitting straight up on her knees. When she noticed him watching, Ziva arched an eyebrow. He raised both of his own, clearly indicating he had meant nothing by his perusal of her form. saying nothing, she padded back into the bedroom to get dressed, while he again returned to the coffee machine, starting a new pot. He was just pouring the hot liquid into two new mugs when Ziva returned, dressed in tan cargo pants and a nondescript black tank.

She accepted the mug with a murmured thank you. She leaned against the counter next to him. He took a sip before being the first to speak.

"Who's Tali?" She looked at him, and he noticed that the walls that had been let down the night before were back up. When she finally spoke, her words were careful.

"My sister." She blew on her coffee. "I figured Tony would have told you by now."

"You told _Dinozzo_?" His skepticism was clearly evident. She shrugged.

"It was before I realized his vast immaturity." She chuckled. "I should have picked up on it considering he had eaten an entire pizza in the rain." He arched an eyebrow at her. "We shared coffee and pizza outside the Embassario."

"The Embassario? That was—"

"Yes." Her voice was suddenly curt. "You had Dinozzo tail me while you went after Ducky and Ari." She looked at him. "Next time, give me a little credit—have my shadow be at least a _little_ bit of a challenge. I made Tony within the first five minutes." Gibbs laughed outright.

"Deal," he said. He let his chuckles die out before he continued. "What else did you tell Dinozzo?"

"That my younger sister Tali was killed in a Hamas suicide bombing." A sip of coffee. "And that she was the best of us."

"How so?"

"She had compassion."

Gibbs didn't say or ask anything else. All he could think about was the newest tidbit of Ziva's life before NCIS. It was yet another aspect of her life that was plagued by pain and grief. He knew the pain of losing a loved one, as he had lost two of his own. But he had been able to exact revenge against his family's murderer. He knew that Ziva would have wanted revenge herself—her Mossad background would only encourage that burning desire. But how do you get revenge against a suicide bomber? What would he have done, if his family had been killed by a vast organization that spanned multiple countries?

His admiration for her grew. To have had so much loss, at such a young age... he could not imagine it. She had become strong, despite the tragedy in her life. It would have broken most other people, her brother included. She had yet to speak of her mother, which clued him in to the possibility that she was dead as well, which would leave just Ziva and her father, unless there were more siblings she had not told him about. And now Gibbs was helping Ziva lie to her father about Ari's death. What would happen if Eli David ever found out the truth? His gut twisted at the thought of Ziva bearing the brunt of the Mossad Director's wrath.

"The bathroom is free if you would like to wash up." There was finality to Ziva's voice that told Gibbs she was finished talking, and he knew not to push her. He left his coffee on the counter as he disappeared to get ready for the day. Upon his re-emergence, he found the cot made and folded back into the couch, and the four mugs cleaned and dry on the counter. Ziva was just folding the towel she had been using when Gibbs sneaked up behind her. He was just opening his mouth to speak when she beat him to the punch. "Relax," she said over her shoulder, her voice teasing. "I found a travel cup for your coffee, so you could take it with you." She looked over her shoulder at him. "And yes, I heard you coming."

He stepped back with a nod, not sure whether to be impressed or insulted. He opted for neither, instead apprehending the thermos in question and taking a long swig. Ziva left the towel folded on the counter and quickly gathered all her belongings, placing them in her overnight bag. She placed the bag next to the staircase and grabbed her boots, lacing them firmly and efficiently.

"Going somewhere?" he asked. She looked up at him.

"I thought I would take a stroll through town, get some fresh air."

"At five in the morning?" he asked skeptically.

"The best time," she said knowingly. "If you are worried for my safety, there is no need." She paused. "Though it would be fun if—"

"Oh no," he interrupted. "You are not going to terrorize my hometown." He grinned. "I think they've had as much free voice as they can handle at the moment." Ziva grinned as well.

"You are probably right. I would hate to give an entire town a coronary." She stood. "All right. I shall simply scout the lay of the land. Who knows what I might observe?"

With a speed surprising for his age, Gibbs slid between her and the stairs in an instant, grabbing her by the arm. "Hey," he said. She looked up at him in surprised confusion. "You ever have trouble sleeping again, you come to me. My door is always open. Even if you just want to talk, or you get a new nightmare. I'm here for you if you need me." His tone was serious, and even she could discern the raw honesty in his voice.

Ziva's eyes became blank for a moment or two. Then her brow furrowed, as if she were trying to determine if she had heard him correctly. She opened her mouth several times to speak, but thought better of it each time, shutting her mouth again before any sound could escape. Ultimately, her shoulders relaxed slightly, and she nodded.

"Thank you," she said finally. Her voice was soft, but thick with veiled emotion. "For everything."

He took yet another swig of coffee as he stepped aside to let her pass.

"You're welcome."


	7. Preview or Update you choose!

A/N: Okay. Here's the deal with this. While I was waiting for votes on the next chapter to come in, I was watching this show on TV which pretty much taught how to survive in various life or death situations. That particular episode was how to survive a skyjacking, but that's neither her nor there. Essentially, it fueled my imagination. What would happen if today's societal systems failed? Government rendered useless and/or nonexistant, resources fought over, etc. It was then I got the idea of WWGD? What Would Gibbs Do?

Now, I know I promised the completion of What If. I can still finish it, which at this point will most likely be a general casefic. But since I didn't get this idea until I had already posted the options, it didn't get a chance to get voted on. So this little preview of my new fic can either be its own story or the newest update to What If. You may be skeptical, but I can totally work it into the storyline I have already established. Oh trust me: it will work.

So it's up to you. This can be the newest Chapter to What If, or it be a preview to a completely different fic.

Let me know what you think about the concept! It's a little different from how I usually go about writing these. I do hope you enjoy it though! Bon Apetit!

* * *

The night was deathly still. A dark and vacant block sat on the outskirts of the city, abandoned but for a slew of abandoned newspapers, bottles, and cans littering the pavement. The smell of smoke and decay lingered heavily in the air, which was thick and sticky with the coming summer heat. A single fire-barrel, dull from burning for days, provided only the barest modicum of light, as opaque clouds covered the night sky. The long-dark streetlamps now served only as turf markers.

The weeks following the Incident had given rise to a hierarchy of gangs. Some gangs had existed before the Incident, but they had been challenged, and sometimes defeated, by newer coalitions of former office workers and civil servants. Territory was fought and killed over, as more territory meant greater access to resources. Intruders were dealt with severely, a result of intense loyalty and competition for precious resources. Turf boundaries were delineated by covering street lamps and telephone poles in spray paint, proudly putting their gang names and symbols on display for all to see. But despite the symbols on these lamps, this particular street was void of life.

The remnants of what had once been a Jeep Wrangler could be seen at the far end of the alley, charred and stripped clean of all minable parts. The frame rested directly on the pavement, as all four tires had been removed. The hood was hinged open, revealing a gaping hole where the engine and battery had once been. The gas was gone as well, siphoned off for other uses, leaving the tank as empty as the car's interior, which had been stripped of all its seats and carpeting.

Suddenly, the tranquility of the scene was broken by the appearance of a shadowed shape peeking around the corner of a building. After a moment of scanning the block for danger, it darted out into the open, quick as smoke. The Shadow moved with natural stealth, not making a sound as it crept down the street. It weaved around a fire-barrel, briefly illuminating the shape of a bulky sack slung over its shoulders. A moment later, a sudden clatter of shifting rubble sent the Shadow scurrying to the nearest source of cover—the scorched skeleton of the Jeep. Once there it froze, blending into the blackened silhouette in its attempt to avoid the potential threat.

A raggedy-coated cat trotted from beneath the offending rubble heap, and when only silence followed, it became clear that the feline had been the cause of the disruption. The Shadow paused only a moment more before leaving the Jeep behind as it crept along a diagonal, before finally darting into an even darker alleyway.

As soon as it was shielded by hollow dumpsters, the Shadow removed the bulky pack from its shoulders as four more dark forms detached from the wall and moved towards the sack, sliding closer to get a better look.

"How did we do?" came a male voice, not belonging to any of the curious onlookers, instead emanating from the dark side of a dumpster. The Shadow didn't flinch—it recognized the Voice, expected it.

"Consumables and toiletries only," the Shadow replied in a female, lightly accented voice. "Enough to last us another week at best. We'll need to make another run for Medicinals soon." Shadow opened her pack to reveal the night's loot. The ghostly forms around her immediately began to take inventory, listing each item before dividing the items into three separate sacks.

"Any Encounters?" the Voice inquired. The Voice was steady, calm. Only the keenest ear could detect the undercurrent of concern.

"None," came the reply. "Some activity six blocks west of here, but not the Vipers. Vagabonds, most likely. They found the Quik-Stop and Walmart on E Street— picked it clean."

"Armed?"

"Undetermined."

"Numbers?"

"Visual confirmation of seven: three male, four female. No identifiable leader."

"Who did we poach from this time?" the Voice asked, this time with a smile hidden in his tone. Possession of this Sector shifted weekly, making it something of a running joke to the Patrol. The Shadow paused for a moment before responding.

"Bloods."

Silence met her reply. The Packers froze where they stood, their eyes automatically shooting to where the Voice was located, beside a dumpster. All present knew the impact of that word, what it meant to their way of life.

"Where?" All amusement had abandoned the Voice, until the hard tone of a leader returned.

"Far end of the Sector. No sentries posted, just tags."

"Very well." A moment of silence followed. "Move out," came the command. At that, the frozen dark Packers resumed their motions, tucking away the last of the supplies without a sound. Cinching the sacks shut, the Packers slung the bags over their shoulders and moved towards the far end of the alleyway. Only the Shadow remained behind with the Voice.

"Are we going to have to relocate, Gibbs?" the Shadow asked softly. The Voice sighed and moved closer to her, leaving the cover of the dumpster.

"We may not have to."

"You said that the last time," the Shadow responded shortly. "We moved 20 miles two days later."

"I know that Ziver," the Voice said. "I was there too."

"We cannot keep moving around like this. We pick up more and more people each time we do, and now there are children to care for—"

"We'll talk about this later," the Voice interrupted. He motioned to the horizon. "The sun is coming. We need to get moving."

"You are right," the Shadow said, her voice sharp. The Voice knew that despite her short intontation, she was being anything but insubordinate. She silently slipped away to join the rest of the Patrol, who had already established Roadguards, ready to sound the alarm should an unidentified party approach. The Voice followed behind her, allowing her to take charge of the Patrol. When the Shadow spoke, her tone was firm and precise—the orders of a commander. "Back to Base."


	8. Chapter 7

"What've we got?"

Gibbs ducked beneath the yellow crime scene tape to where the rest of his team had already begun to process the scene.

"Dead guy boss!" came one answer.

"Really, Dinozzo?" Gibbs remarked, not bothering to look at his senior field agent, who was photographing the torched remains of a car that had collided head-on into a tree. As expected, the Italian began to sputter.

"Well, we don't know anything else yet. Ducky only gives his reports to you, and you were late—" At this, Gibbs pivoted swiftly, pinning Tony with an intense glare. "Not late, boss, you're never late. Always on time. We were just early," he backtracked.

Satisfied at having successfully cowed the younger man, Gibbs returned his attention to the corpse in question. Ducky was already investigating the body, crouching beside the body as he took liver temperature. The body was badly burned on the right side, and Gibbs couldn't see any post-mortem lividity. Off to the side, Ziva was already taking photographs of the body and the immediate area surrounding it.

Ziva. Ever since that night above his father's store, now three months ago, the Israeli had been on Gibbs mind more and more. He had been more concerned for her, that first month after witnessing her nightmare. Though she had not exhibited any signs of distress while on the job, he was still worried that she wasn't sleeping as well as she should be. But about after the case in Stillwater, Ziva had finally taken him up on his offer. She had shown up in his basement one night, her eyes as haunted as they had been in Stillwater. But she had not revealed anything about her nightmare, and he hadn't asked for details. He had merely passed her a stiff drink, which she had accepted with a small, but grateful, smile. That night they had said very little at all to each other, but when the Israeli began stopping by more often, the situation changed.

Sometimes sharing meals, they would talk about cases, theories, sometimes even about the past. It had gotten to the point where, if asked, Gibbs believed he could honestly call Ziva his friend. He had always trusted her since Ari's death, and they had shared a special bond, but it had never been friendship, not until their basement rendezvous became more common an event. That in its self surprised Gibbs, but what surprised him even more was when he caught himself staring.

Sometimes in the bullpen, sometimes in the shadows of his basement, sometimes even at crime scenes, Gibbs would be distracted by something about her. The way the sunlight shone through her hair as she made routine phone calls, the dance of her slender fingers as she typed up a report, even the gentle curve of her back when she photographed a scene. Which she was doing now.

"No ID found on the body, Gibbs," she reported between snapshots, her accented voice lilting slightly. "But the left hand is intact, so we should be able to run his prints through the system."

"If they don't know who he is," Dinozzo called from his location by the car, "why did they call us?"

"Marine Corps ring found on his finger," Gibbs responded, gazing at the object in question. It was relatively small for a male ring, silver with the eagle globe and anchor set on top of a red stone.

"Yeah, but, what if it isn't even the guy's ring? The ring could have been given to him. People do that all the time."

"If this guy is special enough for a Marine to have given him that ring," Gibbs informed him, "then he's special enough to have NCIS investigating his death."

"Not simply his death, Jethro," Ducky interjected. "There is a quite obvious stab wound between the third and fourth ribs on his right side. This man was most definitely the victim of foul play."

"So we are now investigating a murder," Ziva remarked dryly. She smirked. "So what else is new?" Gibbs couldn't keep himself from grinning in return.

"I'll be working on my boat later tonight," he offered. At this, McGee, who had thus far remained silent as he sketched out the crime scene, piped up.

"Maybe you'll even spice it up a bit by having bourbon this time," the younger man said. Ziva chuckled, as did Gibbs—apparently, his liquor of choice was common knowledge among his team.

"Oh, and I think Tony even has a date tonight," Ziva added. McGee perked up at this.

"Really?" he asked slyly. "You know, that actually _is_ a new thing." He paused. "In fact, I can't even remember the last time Tony got a girl to go out with him."

"Hey!" tony exclaimed indignantly. "I do not 'get' girls to go out with me. They practically line up to be wooed by the infamous Dinozzo charm." A moment of silence followed as he paused, regarding the skeptical glances being sent his way. "And I'll have you know that even the studliest of men have dry spells," he amended quickly. Ziva let out a bark of laughter.

"Hah! More like a drought," she said, resuming her task of snapping pictures.

"Yeah," McGee agreed. "It was beginning to look like a desert there, Tony."

Gibbs listened as his team teased one another, allowing them a rare chance to let their mischievous natures show in public. Normally he kept them on a tight leash, enforced by swift smacks to the head. But today was different. Perhaps it was the especially good cup of coffee in his hand, or maybe it was the sound of Ziva's laughter as they continued to torment Tony; whichever the reason, he was enjoying the banter.

"There is something odd about this body, Jethro," Ducky commented, ignoring the young people's antics. An expectant look from Gibbs prompted him to continue. "It seems as though most of these burns were sustained post-mortem."

"C.O.D?"

"Well, the stab wound would be the most likely cause of death at this point, but I won't know for sure until I examine him more thoroughly in my lab."

"Was he stabbed before or after the crash, Doc?"

"Well, that's the thing Jethro. I believe he has been dead for over twelve hours."

"The crash was witnessed four hours ago Doc," Gibbs informed him.

"Yes, I realize that, Jethro." The medical examiner's tone had become a mixture of exasperation and perplexion. "Which means that our victim was dead at the wheel when the car collided with that tree."

"Hey Boss!" Tony said, coming to join the two older men. "I found something that looks like an incendiary device in the backseat."

"So the crash didn't cause the fire," Ziva remarked pensively. "It is possible that whoever killed our vic planted a bomb to destroy the body. The plan must have backfired when the body was launched through the windshield by the explosion."

"Should have worn a seatbelt," McGee remarked. Despite the casualty of the younger man's tone, Gibbs knew that all three of his agents had their heads in the case.

"He didn't drive himself into that tree," Gibbs said, as he stood. "I want to know why eyewitnesses didn't see a second driver leave the scene."

"On it boss," Tony said, already beginning to move towards the crowd of bystanders just beyond the crime scene tape, ready to start taking statements.

"I'll see if there are any traffic cameras nearby that may have picked up what happened," McGee declared, closing his sketchbook. Without waiting for a response, he headed towards the road as well. When Ziva remained where she was, Gibbs eyed her with a critical stare. She arched an eyebrow at him in return.

"As soon as Ducky clears the body I will be taking his prints," Ziva said. "I will then track down who he is and find out what he might have been involved with that would warrant someone going to such extremes to disguise his death." She smirked. "Do not worry," she added," we all know what to do."

"Ziva, my dear," Ducky said, causing her to shift her attention to the ME. "You may collect his prints now." The Israeli circled around the body to get to the victim's left hand; his right hand was burned beyond the point of usable prints. When she reached his feet, which were bare, something caught her attention. She froze mid-step, then crouched down to get a better view of the soles of his feet. Seeing her movements, Gibbs crossed to her position, but remained standing. From his position, he could see that there was a degree of burn damage to the dermis of the man's soles.

"I have seen this before," Ziva said, indicating the burns with a wave of her hand. "On many of the bodies returned from Hamas." She looked up at him. "This man has been tortured."

Silence reigned as her discovery sank in. Finally, it was Ducky who decided to break it.

"It seems that this case is not so ordinary after all."


End file.
